


Personal Privilege

by quakenbake (raccoontitties)



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, MUNverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:14:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raccoontitties/pseuds/quakenbake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, Brittany and Santana meet at a collegiate Model UN conference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. UNHRC

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a based on the “world” of Model United Nations. If you have never heard of MUN please google it before reading. Otherwise, enjoy.

 "Quinn, unlock the damn door. I need the iron."

Santana pounded on the door for the fifth or sixth time. Her roommate clearly didn't understand any kind of bathroom etiquette. It wasn't as if Santana wanted to spy on her in the shower. There was nothing there she hadn't seen several times before. Giving the door one last kick, she stomped back over to her bed and pulled out her binder. If Quinn was going to be a bitch, she might as well get prepared for Session I.

Today was the start of the most prestigious collegiate Model United Nations conference in the country, probably the world. Quinn and Santana had put in weeks of research and strategy preparation all for the next four days of debate. They were grateful that they'd been assigned to the UN High Commission on Refugees, an ECOSOC committee they both preferred. There would be very little fun and next to no sleep for either of them until Sunday, but the Best Delegation gavels they'd take home were well worth the sacrifice. Santana was reviewing their notes on micronutrient deficiencies in refugee populations when Quinn emerged from the bathroom, letting out a cloud of steam with her.

"Jesus Christ, I thought you drowned in there." Santana pushed past her to retrieve the iron from the counter. Stepping into the closet she pulled out a heavily wrinkled powder blue shirt and set it on the ironing board. "You know I need to iron my shirt or I'll look homeless."

Quinn looked up from the zipper of her pants. "Why don't you just wear the red one? It never needs to be ironed." She stepped into her heels and adjusted the string of pearls around her neck.

"Because, I'm saving it for tomorrow. Seriously Quinn, we've partnered on every dual delegation committee since freshman year. You know I save red for Friday and purple for Sunday."

"Well maybe if you were as anal about packing neatly as you are about your pointless wardrobe superstitions, your shirts wouldn't always look like they'd just been shrink wrapped. "

Santana looked down at her shirt; she was barely halfway done forcing the wrinkles out. Ironing was never her strong suit. It took a level of patience that was just beyond her. She eyed Quinn's suit. The creases in her pants were so sharp she could probably cut cut something with them. Santana was loath to conceed any point to Quinn. Ever. But admitting her mistake might just play to her advantage. She heaved out an exaggerated sigh.

"You're right. I don't even see how I will finish this in time for Opening Ceremonies." She let her shoulders sag and tried to look as pitiful as possible. Quinn stared at her for a few moments before rolling her eyes and shoving her out of the way.

"Fine, I'll finish it for you. Go put the rest of your clothes on."

Santana was pulling on her stockings across the room, feeling quite proud of herself, when she heard Quinn say,

"Don't think I don't see what you just did. As payment, you'll be giving our opening speech." Before Santana could open her mouth to protest, Quinn raised the hand holding the iron to cut her off. " _And_  you'll be taking the aisle seat."

Sometimes Santana wished she'd gotten stuck with a different partner. 

___

As they sat side by side during Opening, Santana regretted asking Quinn to help her. She'd rather be stuck ironing every pillowcase in the hotel than listening to the keynote speaker. He was obviously only chosen because he was a professor at the university and the conference couldn't find anyone better. His brief stint as the UN Special Advisor to 'Who cares?' and as Director of the 'Center for Irrelevant Studies' wasn't nearly enough to make Santana interested in his speech. It was nearly six. At least the speech would be over soon. Committee started at seven so they couldn't hold them much longer, right?

She sent a quick text to Quinn.

_This is almost as boring as listening you talk about your senior thesis._

Quinn shot her a dirty look and replied almost instantly.

_Sorry, we can't all write about penis and get a degree for it._

Santana fidgeted slightly in her chair to keep from elbowing her partner in the stomach. Quinn always knew just how to push her buttons.

_For the last time, my thesis is on Phallic Symbolism in Classical Antiquity. And let's be real; you know way more about cock than I ever will._

_Whatever. You're being rude. Pay attention._

With that, Quinn pointedly shut off her phone and returned her attention to the podium. Santana could never understand how she got so engrossed in these things, yet conference after conference she sat through the keynote speech with rapt attention. One time, Santana caught her taking notes. It was sickening. She leaned back in her chair and looked around, trying to keep from falling asleep. She sometimes snored and that kind of awkwardness was something she aimed to avoid. She was eyeing a few of the female cadets from West Point when her eye caught on a glimmer of gold. Sneaking, preposterously late, into Opening Ceremonies was a tall blonde with legs that seemed designed for the trim pantsuit she wore. Santana had always been jealous of Quinn's ability to wear pants without looking dumpy, but even she had nothing on this girl.

Santana's blatant staring was interrupted when the girl seemingly found her delegation and took a seat. She became an indistinguishable drop in the sea of heads bobbing along in either admiration or near comatose boredom.

When Opening ended and the conference was finally declared in-session, Santana filed out behind Quinn and followed her to their committee room. She made an effort to memorize the path so she could find it later. Quinn naturally had already taken the time to scope out the entire venue to find the quickest way to both their committee and the most convenient public spaces for collaboration. She was just crazy like that. They walked into the committee room about forty minutes before session was scheduled to start. Quinn was pleased to note that they were the first delegation there. Now was the crucial time to schmooze the other delegates and the dais while analyzing them for any weaknesses. Scoping out the competition was really the main point of Thursday night's session. True debate and bloc formation wouldn't really start until Friday.

Santana was listening to a group of awkward novice delegates as they stated their incorrect opinions on malaria prevention when the girl from earlier strolled into the room. It was as if everything slowed down. The girl approached the front of the room at a tortuously slow pace. If anything, she was more attractive up close with her brilliant blue eyes and sunny blonde hair. Santana's sluggish brain couldn't process anything but how much those heels made her look like a goddess. A warrior goddess ready to conquer anything in her path. Belatedly, Santana realized that she stood quite literally in her way.

"Hi!" the blonde said, extending her hand eagerly. "I'm Brittany, representing France."

"Santana…Brazil."

Santana found herself capable of only one-word answers as the feel of warm fingers in hers caused every drop of moisture in her mouth to evaporate. She anxiously looked around for any lifeline at all to save her from staying here and trying to make intelligent conversation with Brittany, who seemed to have stepped straight off a runway just to torment Santana and her libido. Like a guardian angel sent from on high, Quinn swooped over and introduced herself to Brittany and her partner, a rather loud brunette who talked just a little too fast for Santana's liking. The three of them, plus Santana stood talking for a few moments about their preferred topic and broad policy ideas. If Quinn noticed Santana's uncharacteristic silence, she hid it well.

Once she'd put more than three feet in between herself and Brittany, Santana was finally able to shook herself out of whatever trance she'd been in. When the time came, she delivered one of the best opening arguments of her career. Her deal with Quinn worked out well, since she dealt in reason, using specifics, dates and facts. Quinn on the other hand, was the statesman, going for hearts and minds and quite often using blatant manipulation. The majority of the other delegations seemed to be taking the latter approach, but with none of Quinn's poise and charisma. The contrast made Santana's forthright presentation stand out even more. She could see support in the eyes of a few delegations and was unsurprised that notes started pouring in as soon as she sat down.

Santana spent much of the rest of the session answering notes while Quinn lead the motion to set the agenda. In the end, the committee didn't vote to discuss the topic Santana favored, but she'd prepared thoroughly for both. The challenge would be to create the best bloc and neutralize the larger countries. By some fluke, which Quinn swore was political; they'd been assigned Brazil when their elite university team should represent a P5 country. The injustice enraged Quinn so badly that Santana had to repeatedly explain to her the merits of an emerging power like Brazil in such a humanitarian based committee.

By the end of Session I, they had a solid plan for the weekend. Santana compiled a list of allies; Quinn compiled a list of enemies. They discussed what they needed to research more and where they had an advantage. After hours of reading and organizing their ideas, they finally collapsed into bed, exhausted.

 ___

On Friday morning, Santana was once again presented with a win-lose situation. She managed to cajole Quinn into ironing for her; this time it was her jacket. But the downside was that it was raining and it wasn't the refreshing kind, it was the hot, muggy, polluted kind that threatened to ruin her hair and made her sweat. As Santana fanned herself, she thought about how times like these made her wish she were a man. While the combination of humidity and opaque stockings were like torture when she was outside; the committee room was bound to be freezing cold. She just couldn't win.

She and Quinn went over their strategy as they walked, each outlining their goals for the day.

"Before we get started, I think it's fucking hilarious that the China delegation is two Asians. Classic."

"I'm pretty sure they're dating or hooking up. It's so unprofessional."

"Please Quinn, like that stopped you from shoving your hand down my pants all last year."

"That's beside the point. _We_ never made out during unmoderated caucus. Now, if you can be serious, I'll let you make fun of all the other kids on Sunday."

Quinn took the fun out of everything. Santana shrugged and turned back to her notes, running through her list of observations from the previous night. "Ok, so the UK is just completely off policy, so we don't have to worry about them. India has people skills, but they only researched the topic A. One of the Russias is Filipino and doesn't speak English that well. I'm pretty sure she's an exchange student or like an immigrant."

Quinn nodded, pulling out her own list. "As Brazil we need to lock down the developing bloc. I'm going to take Africa and you try to get the Latin American countries behind you."

"Sounds good."

"Oh, one more thing. Did you notice how the two delegates from France don't get along too well?"

Santana hadn't really noticed anything about France besides how one girl was as attractive as the other was annoying. She shrugged, "I did notice that Loud France seemed very interested in flirting with our chair and Hot France wasn't too happy about it."

Quinn's eyebrows shot up towards her hairline.

"Hot France, really?"

"Not like that, Quinn" Santana felt her ears and the back of her neck flush with embarrassment.

"Don't play games. I saw the way you practically drooled over her last night. Get it together. I need you to work with her so we can separate her from her partner. They are literally our only valid competition."

Santana nodded in agreement and promised herself she would get over whatever weird attraction she had for Hot France - no, _Brittany_. Quinn was right. This would be crucial for them to gavel. The cohesion of a dual delegation was just as important as their level of research and speaking skills. If both partners weren't on the same page, it could spell disaster for them, their bloc, and their resolution. That was why she always partnered with Quinn. On a basic level, Quinn was the only person on thier team she could tolerate working closely with for a whole weekend. She suspected Quinn felt the same way. Their dynamic seemed odd since they argued, sniped, and griped at each other constantly but they were both in it to win and had gotten to the point where they could nearly read each other's minds during caucus. Santana had never seen another delegation with thier kind of chemistry, and that gave them a huge advantage.

___

By early afternoon on Friday, things were definitely going their way. Santana managed to control debate by keeping the committee focused on water sanitation. Literally no one could match her on that issue. She spent hours gleefully shooting down terrible ideas while Quinn spent time furiously answering notes and conducting meetings outside the room. Friday was about getting their ideas across. It was about shutting down Loud France, whose name was something with an R, every time she opened her mouth to annoyingly quote the UN Charter. Saturday was for smoothing feathers and making nice, something that was most decidedly Quinn's job. Or so Santana thought.

"You need to work on merging with France" Quinn said over coffee on Saturday morning. "Otherwise they'll keep poaching all the European countries."

Santana wanted to argue, but she knew it was true. She had to handle the merger because she was the most knowledgeable about the topic. Well, it was also true that a few of the other delegations no longer trusted Quinn. Quinn was a devious bitch and Santana loved her for it, but that often meant Santana had to be the closer. She sat wondering which member of the French delegation she would have the most success with. She doubted her professionalism would last long with either, as she wanted to stab one and shove her tongue down the other's throat. Neither action would impress the chair.

The decision was made for her when Brittany approached her during unmod.

"Hey, Brazil."

"Hi. Brittany, right? You can call me Santana."

"I know, silly." Brittany elbowed her gently. "But Rachel says I need to cultivate my professional distance."

Admittedly, she did. She was way too friendly and open for this kind of cutthroat competition. Santana had seen her flitting from bloc to bloc, sharing ideas and quite literally taking the MUN spirit of collaboration to heart. Clearly no one ever told her that honest interest in the topics wasn't the most important factor in winning. Santana found her idealism very endearing but knew she'd use it to her advantage if possible.

"Rachel says quite a lot."

Brittany giggled, but refrained from agreeing. Santana found her loyalty to such an awful partner honorable. She saw Quinn across the room vigorously leading a discussion amongst the other Latin American nations. It was time to get to business. They had just one session left to pull a successful merger.

"I think we should discuss merging to create the most comprehensive resolution." Santana put on her most serious face and struggled to keep her eyes on Brittany's and not on the long white column of her throat. Or how the way Brittany leaned forward to hear her in the crowded room offered a view directly down her shirt. Or the fact that she was wearing a skirt today and her legs seemed to go on forever. A subtle cough drew her eyes back up. She felt her face start to heat when Brittany smiled at her with such a knowing gleam in her eyes. Santana had been caught rather overtly checking her out.

She trained her eyes back to her draft resolution and kept them there. Avoiding Brittany's eyes didn't really help block out the warmth from her body or the scent of her perfume, but it worked well enough to allow Santana to function while they spliced and fused their respective DRs into one joint document. At some point, Quinn and Rachel stepped over to oversee the process. After a bit more discussion of the finer policy points, they were ready to submit. They walked the flash drive up to the dais and handed it to the chair, a really tall, pasty-looking guy who alternated between leering at Quinn and having moderately disgusting eyesex with Rachel. As they returned to their seats, Brittany grabbed her arm.

"I really enjoyed working with you," her tone projected the kind of sincerity you rarely saw in Model UN.

"Me too." Santana hated the way her voice practically squeaked. She quickly returned to her seat feeling Brittany's gaze on her the entire time.

She and Rachel presented their bloc's resolution. Rachel, while crazy irritating, was able to give very impassioned speeches and Santana had to admit they played well off each other. She caught Quinn's eye during a lull in the Q&A period and winked. They were doing so well. Until Santana made the mistake of looking in Brittany's direction. Brittany was on the aisle and chose that exact moment to uncross and recross her legs. Santana spluttered for a good five seconds before Rachel jumped in. Quinn gave her a hardcore WTF look. Brittany just smiled. Oh, she knew what she was doing. She had Santana's number and was clearly enjoying playing with her. When the banging of the gavel announced the end of the session, she walked right up to Santana.

"I hope I'll see you at the delegate dance." she purred, walking away as Santana just nodded at her retreating back.

With Session V over, Quinn and Santana rushed back to their room to change. The important part of the conference was done. Awards would be decided tonight and no matter how much people tried to pretend that Sunday mattered, all you really had to do was show up. Though, with the amount of booze Santana made a point of consuming at each conference, that in and of itself was a challenge. More than once, Quinn had to peel her off the bathroom floor and pour about a gallon of coffee down her throat before dragging her to committee.

These potential dangers didn't stop either of them from cracking open the bottle of tequila hidden in their luggage. They both preferred its tangy sting to the cheap vodka and rum the rest of the team was drinking downstairs. Their plan was to drink enough of the good stuff now  so that they wouldn't mind the bad stuff later.

"I can't believe you forgot the limes again. You're useless to me, you know that right?" Santana slammed two shot glasses on the table to emphasize her point.

"I didn't forget. I told you that I'm not going to put produce in my luggage with my clothes. Do you know how many of my shirts are pure silk?"

This was a recurring argument with them. Santana had the fake ID because Quinn was much too proper to search out the "sort of people" who could get her one. For someone who drank as much as she did, she had a lot of rules to what she would and wouldn't do to get booze. Santana didn't have that problem.

"I bought the bottle, Quinn. Would it kill you to think of me over all that shit you bought from the Betty Draper collection at Nordstrom's?"

"Are you saying you can't do tequila shots without lime? Isn't that treason where you come from?"

Rather than respond to the insult, Santana registered the challenge in Quinn's eyes. They had always been like this, picking and poking at each other. She decided then that her goal for the night would be to get Quinn absolutely trashed. And then draw a huge penis all across that pretty face of hers. Smiling at her partner, Santana raised her glass.

"Salud!"

___ 

About three hours later, Santana began to question the wisdom of pouring tequila down Quinn's throat and then only allowing her to chase it with high-fives. At MUN events like this, they stayed closer together than usual. The rest of their delegation almost always had some kind of coup or internal drama by this point and could not be relied upon to provide safety in numbers. Early in their sophomore year, after many many mistakes, they'd created a two-man buddy system that extended far beyond holding hands. They'd gotten quite a reputation on the circuit but in reality, at least seventy percent of their hook-ups were drunken attempts to repel the creepers that skulked around the delegate dance looking for easy marks.

This time however, Quinn was drunk off her ass and had abandoned Santana about twenty minutes ago for a dark corner and a West Point cadet. Santana was stuck in the swell of bodies, sweating and agitated, dancing with an obnoxious douchebag who for some inexplicable reason kept his blazer on in the sweltering heat. His hands wandered just far enough to annoy her, but not far enough to give her an excuse to punch him. She would have sworn he was gay until he brazenly ran his eyes over her body before asking her to dance. Honestly, the first time his hand grazed where it shouldn't have, she was too shocked to react.

The song ended and she stepped forward, fully intending to walk away from him without another word. She got about four steps before a hand at her waist tugged her back. She whipped her head around expecting to see a pleased smirk on a smarmy meerkat face, but instead was met with blue eyes and an awful lot of blonde hair. The grip on her waist tightened, contrasting the gentle but firm hand with the larger one previously resting there. She inhaled deeply and felt her back brush against a body that was decidedly feminine. Finally her mind cut through the haze of heat, alcohol and confusion.

"Brittany?"

"Santana. I've been looking for you."

Just like that, Brittany walked her a few steps from the center of the room and began to lead her as the next song picked up. Santana had danced closely with people before, both girls and guys. Some could even say she was something of an expert at grinding but never had it felt so intimate as moving with Brittany to the beat. Even over the vibration of the speakers, she could feel each breath Brittany took; feel the press of her ribcage expanding. With each rise and fall, the tension coursing through her body increased.

Brittany's hands held her firmly, more than guiding her but instead holding them together so they moved as one. After a few moments, her hands strayed from Santana's hips down to her upper thighs and up to just under her breasts before descending again. Every so often Brittany's fingertips would graze the hem of her sinfully short dress and skate along her skin. Upon hearing Santana gasp, she pressed down harder.

While distracted, Santana failed to notice Brittany slowly moving them to the edge of the room until she felt warm lips on the back of her neck. She jolted forward before being pulled back once again. She felt Brittany's chuckle before she heard it, the rumble against her back, and the hot puff of air in her ear. Brittany linked her hands around Santana's midsection, giving her just enough room to turn around.

When she looked up, the heat in Brittany's eyes sent her heart pounding. The throbbing settled low in her belly as Brittany leaned against the wall and nudged Santana towards her, pressing her lips along Santana's neck and her thigh in between her legs. The pressure nearly caused Santana to cry out and she rocked herself lightly while Brittany's tongue danced across her skin. Unable to stand it, Santana grasped handfuls of blonde hair and pulled Brittany's lips to hers, using more teeth than anything else in her desperation. She actually did whine when Brittany separated their mouths.

"I've wanted to do that since Opening when I couldn't make it on time and you couldn't keep your eyes off my ass"

Any embarrassment Santana might have felt paled next to the memory of how good she'd felt just moments before.

"Well who told you to stop?" Santana's voice was raspy with arousal. She couldn't control the erratic way her body continued to press down onto Brittany's.

"Well, I'm pretty sure this is illegal. Also, that kid over there with the 'fro is watching us and its kind of killing the mood."

Rather than look for the voyeur, who was almost definitely the kid with glasses and dandruff that wore the same suit to every conference and propositioned anything in a skirt, Santana said the only thing that came to her mind.

"Come to my room."

 ___

In the elevator, Santana stood further from Brittany than necessary, hoping the other occupants couldn't somehow sense what they were up to. She was still pretty sure that elderly couple could see right through her and was judging her. She stepped off at her floor, quickly striding down the hall to her door while Brittany trailed behind her. Once the door was closed, she went to turn on the lights when Brittany stopped her.

Brittany pulled them into the center of the room, somehow managing to avoid the suitcase left open at the foot of the bed. She laid Santana down on the mattress and slowly worked her dress over her head. When Santana lay in only her bra and panties, she reached for Brittany and attempted to unfasten her, belt but strong hands clasped her wrists, stilling her movements.

"No."

Her hands were pressed above her head. Brittany's warm tongue traced the outline of her breast before her teeth bit down on the flesh just above the edge of lace.

"Stay."

Santana grabbed onto the pillow as Brittany made quick work of the rest of her clothes. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and she could vaguely make out Brittany shifting back to remove her own clothes. She could feel the heat radiating from her skin. Santana waited for Brittany's weight to settle on top of her, but it never came. Instead she felt feather soft lips on her chest, her stomach, and her thighs. She squirmed and the mouth pressed down harder, burning a scorching path along each rib before returning to her mouth. Santana needed more.

"Britt…please."

Brittany kissed her deeply, silencing her, her tongue forceful in a way that her mouth wasn't. She trailed kisses to Santana's ear before whispering.

"Shh. I've waited for days to get my hands on you. The time for talking is over,"

Santana whimpered as Brittany trailed her tongue down her arm, focusing on the sensitive skin at the crook of her elbow and down to her wrist. She moved lower, drawing long patterns up her thighs and biting down when Santana fidgeted too much. Santana tried to keep quiet as Brittany's teasing moved closer and closer to where she needed it most. Her hips canted upwards searching for any kind of friction.

Brittany held her down and moved closer. She shifted Santana's leg up over her shoulder and used gentle fingers to spread her and hold her open. It was the first time Brittany had used her hands since undressing her and Santana nearly came just from the unfamiliar sensation. She had less than a second to think before Brittany's tongue was on her. Its conquest was as fervent and enthusiastic as its earlier exploration was unhurried and methodical. Santana's heavy moans and unintelligible curses made a mockery of her attempt to remain silent.

 ___

Santana woke up alone with a pounding headache. She looked over and saw Quinn sprawled fully clothed across her bed and thanked God for that small favor. A quick glance at her cell pone let her know that they had exactly half an hour before committee started. She drug herself out of bed and shook Quinn awake. Quinn appeared to be in worse shape so Santana headed to the bathroom while she pulled herself together. They were officially twenty minutes late when they left the room. Santana decided to go without a blazer since she couldn't bring herself to bully Quinn into ironing it for her. Thankfully her blouse had long sleeves and a relatively high collar and covered most of the marks she'd discovered in the shower. There really wasn't much she could do with what Brittany had done to her neck, so she just wore her hair down.

They slunk into the committee room and found seats near the back. The committee room was fairly large and they were all the way by the back wall so she can't spot Brittany. Santana sent a note to the dais indicating that they were present. She leaned against the wall and Quinn leaned against her. Quinn had been silent the entire morning as if the sound of her own voice pained her. They managed another hour before the chair announced that he would let them out early. Not wanting to deal with the crush of people trying to leave, they waited until the room was mostly empty. Santana heard a grating voice that could only be Loud France. Quinn pressed her face firmly into Santana's shoulder as if hiding would make Rachel speak more softly.

Santana kept her eyes trained on Rachel looking for her partner. Brittany was a few steps behind her, looking tired but not at all as if she had a hangover or had crept back to her room in a walk of shame at some point that morning. She was smiling and when she caught Santana's eye her grin widened and she winked before trailing Rachel out of the room.

At Closing Ceremonies, after France won Outstanding Delegation and Brazil won Best and Brittany politely shook hands with Quinn, she pulled Santana in for a hug. Pressing close, she licked a hot path under Santana's ear tracing over one of the marks she'd left.

"I'll see you at the next conference."


	2. GECF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read this, watch the video. It will be important later. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O0kmskvJFt0

It started as most things do with Quinn, with subtle manipulation. Really, Santana should have picked up on it the minute Quinn suggested they both do the Chinese Communist Party Central Committee.

"That sounds like torture." Santana muttered under her breath.

Quinn glared in her direction and she crossed her arms and winked, smirking when that tick started in Quinn's jaw. Santana loved antagonizing her. It was really the little pleasures that made awful situations worth it. She hated these meetings and still couldn't figure out how Quinn had roped her into this. Not only was she giving up her chance at all the on-campus Halloween parties, Quinn was trying to put her on the least interesting committee in the history of life.

As Head Delegate, it was Quinn's responsibility to communicate with the conferences they attended as well as to manage committee assignments. She was also in charge of a small secretariat that helped with booking flights and hotels and ran frequent delegate training sessions. After being elected, she'd made it her first agenda item to browbeat Santana into serving as her Chief of Staff. Every week, they met with the rest of the secretariat to plan and assign duties. Now, with one of the most popular conferences of the year approaching, it was time for team selection. This rarely interested Santana, since it was pretty much a given that she'd either compete with Quinn on a double delegation or she'd do whichever committee was least crisis based.

They ran through the list of committees with Santana only halfheartedly listening.

"I think we can put Kurt as Bin Laden on the Afghan-Soviet JCC and Sugar as Iran on the Gas Exporting Countries Forum."

"Wait, we have a position as Iran?"

"Yes, Santana. Didn't you read my email?"

Santana just looked at her. Quinn should really know better by now. She leaned forward and said, "I want that committee."

"It's a crisis committee. You don't like crisis."

This was true. And Quinn knew it better than anyone else after having listened to several long diatribes on Santana's hatred for military committees. –The chairs were always sexist and the delegates from military academies always had an advantage– But this was different.

"Yeah, but I called all Persia and/or Iran related committees back in September."

"You can't just call committees," Kurt said. "It's important that everyone has a chance. "

"Plus" Quinn added, "when I gave you the Persian War committee last year you made a girl cry."

"But, I won the committee." Santana really didn't see the problem here. She cared about exactly two things: winning and not losing. Kurt could sit on his high horse until he managed to grow facial hair, but she knew Quinn had the same competitive streak as her. "Quinn, you know I'm right."

It continued as many things do with Quinn, with annoying passive aggression.

"Well see, Santana. Now lets move on to cash advances."

Santana loved being the only person in the room willing to take the piss out of High Overlord Fabray, but overt insubordination rarely worked with Quinn, especially not in front of other people. She'd try again later.

For now, she just flopped back in her seat, determined to be as unhelpful as possible for the rest of the meeting.

It ended as almost all things do with Quinn, with pompous arrogance.

Santana caught her after the meeting.

"Give me the GECF; you know I'll win. I'm the only one who knows anything about Iran. It's practically my major."

"Your major is Classical Studies."

"My major is actually Ancient History, but I'm finishing a second in Middle Eastern Studies. I'm taking Farsi for Christ's sake. Also, you owe me for taking care of all of your little crumb-snatchers when I should be enjoying my senior year"

Ideally, she wouldn't even be competing this much as a senior. 50% of the pleasure of doing collegiate MUN was the free alcohol. After 3 years, she'd put in her dues and deserved to relax, not giving up every weekend, including Halloween, to be cooped up in a hotel wit thousands of the nerdiest people alive. It's not like she needed it to pad her college applications like she did in high school.

Quinn looked at her with that disinterested calm that always makes Santana want to punch her. She raised one perfect eyebrow and silently clued Santana into what it is she was waiting for.

"Please."

Quinn waited just a beat too long before relenting. She nodded her head and heaved out an elaborate sigh, acting extremely put upon. Santana ignored her theatrics to pull her in for a hug.

"Thanks." She said, kissing her on the cheek. "You're my favorite."

"Yes, I am. If only because you just hate me less than the rest of the people who go to school here."

Santana shrugged, unable to deny it. She just kept her arm around Quinn's shoulders as they walked back to their dorm.

Their amity lasted about a week, because Quinn likes to fuck with Santana even more than Santana likes to fuck with her.

She flounced into Santana's room where she was reading with her feet propped up on her desk. She leaned in the doorway watching Santana with a smile that just came off as a mix of creepy and predatory. Santana pointedly did her best to ignore her because she knew that look. It was the look Quinn wore when they were freshmen and she caught Santana making out with their female RA in the communal showers. It's the look that said Quinn knew something she shouldn't.

When she was tired of being ignored she swiped Santana's feet of the desk and perched herself on the edge.

"I think I know why you were so adamant about your committee for next week."

"Because I'm the only one on the team who knows that Iran's president and Supreme Leader are two different people?"

"Because "Hot France", as you call her, is in the same committee."

Not that Quinn would ever believe it, but that was the first Santana had heard of it. Brittany had added her on Facebook, but they hadn't really kept in touch.

"Are you shitting me?"

"Nope. She'll be representing Venezuela. You know Santana," she said shifting further up on the desk and crossing her legs, "I'm Head Del. I could have just gotten her number for you. You didn't need to go to such…desperate and pathetic measures to see her again."

Santana didn't  _really_  want to see Brittany again. She knew how these Model UN hookups went. They were either one night stands or they got awkward fast. She could still remember when a guy on their team had slept with a girl and she'd acted like they were married for the rest of the semester. She also remembered that night with Brittany being the best sex she had ever had, Quinn included. She still got tingles thinking about Brittany's hot eyes and even hotter mouth. But it definitely had at least a little to do with the alcohol. She'd been drunk and she was romanticizing it. Probably. Either way, she didn't want to deal with it for four days.

"Is there still a spot on your committee?"

Quinn's smile spread so wide it looked like her face would crack.

"Nope, we've already sent out positions. No changes now". It was galling to see how much she enjoyed Santana's discomfort.

"Maybe I should have you room with someone else so I don't get sexiled."

"I hate you so much right now. "

Quinn laughed and slid off her desk. Santana could still hear her chuckling after she'd left the room and closed the door.

___

Santana spent the following week buried in research and schoolwork to distract herself from the mixed emotions she felt at the possibility of seeing Brittany again. On one hand, she was excited. Well if nothing else, her body was excited. But she was also worried. Brittany had been the first competitor in a long time that neither irritated her or bored her to tears. She was eccentric yes, but that was part of her charm. The other part was those legs that seemed to go on forever. She really didn't want to ruin the image of the girl she'd built up in her head.

By the time Thursday of conference rolled around, Santana had managed to talk herself into a relative state of normalcy. She didn't expect to have any reaction to seeing Brittany other than a faint fondness and a lingering physical attraction. She was wrong.

She walked into the committee room and saw Brittany just sitting there at the table, almost like she was waiting for her. Santana felt that same pull, low in her groin and surprisingly further up in her stomach. It felt like butterflies, a soft vibrating and clenching feeling, at once uncomfortable but welcome. Brittany smiled widely at her and Santana felts a grin pulling up her face as well. She stands up and rounds the table.

"Hi Santana."

"Hi, Brittany."

They had a few minutes before session officially started so they stepped outside instead of talking with the other delegates. Schmoozing isn't what wins crisis committees so they didn't really have to bother with first impressions.

"This is a huge coincidence." Brittany said, rocking back and forth on her heels.

After watching Quinn smirk knowingly at her all day, Santana thought it was possibly the smallest coincidence possible, but she was still happy for it. Brittany smelled so good and looked so good and Santana was still a little dumbstruck in her presence. They talked for a while about school, the weather, and their very different levels of excitement for conference's costume party until it was time to go in.

The room was small, nearly filled with the long table set for the fourteen members of the committee. It seemed even smaller with Brittany there, smiling at her from across the room. The last time Santana had seen her, she'd been too sexy for words. Now she just looked so genuinely excited to see Santana that it caused a warm feeling to settle in her chest. Santana sent her one small smile in return before settling in and focusing on debate.

About an hour into the Session I, she realized just how much the Forum was based on economics. Literally all they talked about was quotas unless there was a crisis to deal with. Quinn had told her she wouldn't like it, but she'd die before admitting it. She'd made her bed and she would lie in it. Her biggest competition came from Russia, a girl named Mercedes who while in committee was one of the most obnoxious and belligerent delegates Santana had met, but outside of it was amazingly nice, albeit still sassy. Santana had liked her since they'd met a few months ago in a committee Mercedes was chairing.

Once they'd been released from the short first session, Brittany grabbed her by the hand and pulled her into a nearby stairwell. She looked at Santana for a moment before stepping forward and gently pressing her against the wall. Brittany stood so close that Santana could feel hipbones pressing into her stomach. Santana's heart was racing when she reached up and twined her fingers through Brittany's hair, pulling their mouths together. Brittany still tasted the same and her lips and tongue were still just as bold. Santana was very close to forgetting her own name when Brittany pulled back and stepped away, sliding her fingers though Santana's to keep them connected.

"I missed doing that," she said, slightly blushing and looking completely adorable. "But I have to go check in with my advisor. She's pretty strict about having team bonding on Thursday."

Santana nodded and allowed Brittany to pull her back into the hallway. Brittany squeezed her fingers before letting go and stealing a final kiss.

"See you tomorrow."

When Santana got back to the room, it was empty. Quinn was still held up at the Head Delegate meeting, so she had time to sit and try to process what had just happened. She could still feel the warm press of Brittany's lips against her own, could recall the way Brittany tasted faintly of watermelon Jolly Ranchers. She got so caught up replaying those moments in the stairwell that she didn't notice Quinn return until the door slammed behind her.

Quinn stood at the closet grumbling, pulling off her suit and hanging it up because, obviously… _it's Quinn_. She barely acknowledged Santana as she pulled a pair of track pants and a t-shirt from her suitcase.

"My committee sucks. It's huge and nearly impossible to get called on. I'm going to be spending four days just selecting a new leader for the Communist party. Literally the only policy decision to make is which coalition to join."

She sat down on her bed, turning to face Santana. "Are you even listening?"

 _No._ "Of course Quinn, China sucks and you finally got what was coming to you."

"I wish I were China. We're all characters. I'm a congressman with no portfolio powers. It's like I'm just some random Chinese person"

"Yep, one of a billion." Santana had to laugh at just how deeply unimpressed Quinn was with her committee. She should really learn not to do the committee she thinks she should like, and do the ones she's actually interested in. Quinn belonged in a hardcore crisis.  _She_  should have taken the spot on the JCC. She'd have made a great Bin Laden.

"Whatever. How was GECF?" Quinn had that calculating look that showed she was asking about more than just the committee.

"Brittany was there."

" _Really?_  She was?" Quinn dodged the pillow Santana tossed at her head and leaned forward. "So did you talk to her?"

"Quinn, I had to talk to her. There are only fourteen people in the committee." Santana debated how much to share. Sure, Quinn would likely never forget it if she found out Santana was consistently reduced to a blushing mess by a random girl at a MUN conference, but she had to tell someone. Quinn was her closest friend and could at least be counted on to keep her mouth shut.

"But, afterwards…she kissed me."

"So this, you two, is going to be a thing now?"

"I don't know. She had her tongue down my throat so she probably wants to sleep with me again, which I'm one hundred percent down for, by the way. But other than that, I'm not sure if this is a conference thing or if she's expecting more…"

Santana fell silent when that irritating Cheshire grin spread across Quinn's face.

"What?"

"Nothing. You're just really into her. You should ask her out."

"To what? Club Night? No, thank you."

"No, smartass. This is one of the biggest cities in the country. Find a nice restaurant."

"You're going to let me ditch the delegation dinner? Who the fuck are you and where is Quinn Fabray?"

"I'm going to force you to deal with your shit. Our walls are thin. I know you haven't slept with anyone since last month. I've seen you drool, moon, and angst over this girl. It's getting sickening. Helping you helps me."

Santana didn't really know what to say to that so she just slumped back against her pillows and switched on the TV.

___

Friday morning, Brittany just barely made it on time to session. She snuck in, hurriedly taking the only empty seat in the room. They didn't really have any time to greet each other. The angle was such that Santana could only see her if she leaned forward, which she did, blushing when Brittany responded with a little wave and a wink.

Their awkward positioning at the table was probably for the best as it allowed Santana to focus on the issues at hand. Mostly. A short time later, the Crisis Manager and one of his staffers came in with an urgent update, producing documents and a video concerning a case of horizontal drilling along the Venezuela-Colombian border. Santana thought there was probably something wrong with her that the video sent her mind directly into the gutter. Back in the day, penetration was probably the best part of her time spent in the closet. She'd maintained a string of malleable beards with whom she'd had mildly convincing heterosexual intercourse. It had almost made up for the stubble and the rough hands and the Axe body spray. Almost. As much as she was willing to admit sex with men wasn't complete torture, she was ashamed to admit a video simulation of a drill searching for natural gas deposits was getting her so hot and bothered.

It turned out to be the major crisis of the session and gave Santana ample time to listen to the alluring cadence of Brittany's voice. That didn't help her at all. Santana tried not to think of the wankier implications of the term  _horizontal drilling_  because evidently this was serious was apparently enough for an IEA investigation. Brittany even demanded sanctions and threatened to mobilize her troops along the border. Watching Brittany be so forceful and argue so stridently was another thing that didn't really help her situation. It was getting out of hand.

Once session ended, she waited for Brittany in the hallway. Her palms were sweating and her heartbeat was slightly faster than normal, but she was confident none of that showed.

"Hey Brittany."

"Hi, Santana."

"What are you doing tonight?"

Brittany looked a little confused, but adorably so. "Isn't tonight Club Night? Did they cancel it?"

Santana shifted in her heels, trying to keep from smiling at how cute Brittany was. "Club night is still on, but I bet it will be terrible. I was wondering if you wanted to go downtown for dinner. Its just there's a really great seafood restaurant I've been wanting to tryout. I would take Quinn, but she's allergic to shellfish and I don't want to cab it alone…"

Santana heard herself rambling but couldn't seem to stop. She trailed off and looked up at Brittany who just nodded and reached over to tug on a strand of hair that had fallen out of her bun.

"I'd love to."

The date itself went smoothly. They met in the lobby of the hotel and took the cab Santana had requested to the restaurant. Brittany was wearing a sinfully short dress, but Santana was largely successful in keeping her eyes in appropriate places. Brittany was less successful in keeping her hands  _off_ Santana. Either that, or she didn't even try. She took every opportunity to brush her lip across Santana's cheek when she hugged her hello, to press her fingers against the small of Santana's back as she lead her out to the car, to sit unnervingly close to her in the car with her hand on Santana's knee and her eyes sparkling roguishly. Santana had come to the confusion that Brittany was not trying to torture her, but was just naturally a tactile person.

Once at the restaurant, Santana ordered lobster and Brittany got something with shrimp.

They talked about themselves, sharing all the mundane information they'd skipped the last time they were together. They talked majors, hometowns, movies, celebrity crushes and everything in between. It was so easy to be with Brittany, to talk to her. It was clear that she was truly interested in what Santana has to say. She listened instead of just waiting for Santana to stop speaking. Santana was drawn to Brittany in a way that started to feel so much more than physical.

By the end of the night, it felt completely natural that they were holding hands with Brittany swinging their arms between them. Once they reached the lobby, she turned to Santana.

"Thanks for tonight. Even though I'm still not sure how you managed to pay the bill without me noticing."

Santana smiled up at her, blushing. "I have my skills."

"I'm sure you do." Brittany said and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. They part in the elevators when Santana exited on her floor. Brittany waved to her as the doors closed and wished her a good night. Santana mused to herself that it couldn't possibly get any better than it already was.

___

The more time she spent with Brittany, the more immune she became to her blatant sex appeal. Santana felt a strong fondness growing for the quirky, adorable girl behind those killer blue eyes and blonde hair that also enabled her to focus while spending several hours within arms reach of Brittany. That came in useful on Saturday when the shit hit the fan.

Her first action on Friday had been to cut the subsidies in Iran in order to properly benefit from the enormous natural gas reserves in the country. She'd been prepared for the rising inflation and subsequent public unrest, which is why she had also sent a directive to Tehran to set the Revolutionary Guard on alert. What she hadn't prepared for was Brunei.

He was annoying the shit out of her. Her hard work had finally paid of and Iran was now a set to be a net exporter of natural gas for the first time, but he attempted to set the quota so that no country could increase exports. That was all well and good for him, the fifth richest country in the world per capita, but her people needed this. Moreover, it was the principle of the matter. The Islamic Republic of Iran would not be bullied. Certainly not by a pretentious douche in a hideous bowtie. After much arguing and heavy amounts of ass-kissing to get Russia on her side, she worked out a deal that would let her export enough gas to revitalize the economy and regain public approval.

She just barely resisted smirking at Brunei; instead glancing towards Brittany who seemed rather impressed. About an hour before the end of Session V, she received a note from Venezuela.

_Madam Ambassador, It would honor me greatly if we could meet later tonight to discuss closer cooperation between our nations. ;)_

Smiling to herself, Santana replied. Yes _, shall we meet tonight at 9 to discuss policy proposals?_

_Tonight. At the Venezuelan Embassy…ps. That means my room. 1910_

Santana laughed out loud at this, earning a curious look from Mercedes and a stern glare from the chair. Clearing her throat she shuffled her papers, hiding the note in the back pocket of her binder.

At 8:57, Santana knocked on Brittany's door. After maybe a full 3 seconds, the door swung open and she was yanked inside.

"Aww, you're not wearing a costume."

Santana looked down at her jeans and hoodie. She'd completely forgotten today was Halloween even though she'd complained at length about having her holiday traditions ruined.

"Sorry, I forgot."

"It's cool. I'd rather stay here with you anyway. Want to watch a movie. ABC has 13 Nights of Halloween and Hocus Pocus is on first."

Santana thought about the pregame going on downstairs in her teammates' room and the party in the hotel that would follow. Neither one was as enticing at this offer.

"Sounds perfect."

Brittany rummaged through her suitcases and pulled out absurd amounts of candy. She set the packages in a messy pile on her bed and climbed in, motioning for Santana to slide in next to her. They watched the movies largely in silence, laughing at the screen or at each other when something startled them. Santana surprised herself with just how much of candy she'd consumed. They apparently both over did it with the sugar, because they crashed a few hours later, curled up in Brittany's bed with plastic wrappers littering the sheets around them.

Santana woke up to what sounded like a cat having its temperature taken. She jolted up in the bed, disoriented and searching for whatever wounded animal had snuck into her room. An arm tightening around her waist reminded her that she hadn't actually slept in her room the previous night. Brittany pulled her back down and nuzzled into her hair.

"What is that, Britt?" Seriously, how could anyone sleep through that?

She felt Brittany shrug.

"Its just Rachel doing her morning vocal exercises. Stay here."

A glance at the clock told her it was just after six. She really needed to get back to her room soon. No matter how much she wanted to stay in the warm cocoon of blankets with Brittany, Quinn would get worried if she woke up and Santana wasn't there. She also didn't want to have to hold a civil conversation with Rachel this early.

"Britt, I'm going to go. See you later, ok?" She pulled away with a kiss to Brittany's forehead and snuck out of the room, making sure to shut the door gently on her way out.

___

Session VI passed smoothly. Things got much less serious when Russia, Iran, and the UAE decided to split off from the committee and hold their own summit in Doha – aka the hallway. They ended up forming their own gas cartel and sent an open invitation to the remaining members of the GECF to join them. Except for Brunei. He wasn't invited. Only Venezuela ended up defecting, but together the four of them controlled over 60% of the world's gas reserves and they proceeded to flood the market by establishing sky-high quotas. By the end of committee, they'd completed a pipeline from Qatar, through Iran and Russia all the way to China. Santana would call that a success. It was definitely the most fun she'd had at conference in months.

Closing Ceremonies were tedious as usual. As expected, Mercedes won Best Delegate. There were no hard feelings since it would have been nearly impossible to lose in the GECF as Russia as long as you knew at least a little of your shit. Santana brought home Outstanding Delegate and Brittany rounded out the top three with Honorable Mention. The three of them hugged each other and laughed while collecting their awards.

As they walked back to their seats, Brittany slowed her pace and looked over at Santana with a serious expression. "Santana, what is this? What are we?"

Santana looked up at her. "What do you want us to be?"

"I'd like to say we're together. Like… _together_  together." For the first time, Brittany seemed nervous and uncertain of herself, which was fine because Santana was completely sure.

"I'd like that too." She would have liked to pull Brittany in for a kiss right there, but they were in a crowded ballroom and it would have been completely inappropriate. She settled for squeezing Brittany's hand and trying to convey the depth of her emotions with the press of her fingers. "Maybe, I can come up and see you next weekend and we can workout the details."

Brittany's face broke out into that familiar mischievous grin.

"I'd like that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference:
> 
> JCC = Joint Crisis Committee. It's when two Crisis Committees operate in real time against each other. Usually in a wartime scenario.
> 
> Horizontal Drilling : When used properly, a country could use this method to siphon off natural gas from across another country's border. This is serious business.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story is 100% a product of my experiences at conferences. Obviously, minus me hooking up with anyone as hot as Brittany or Santana. I apologize if this is too nerdy for some but I couldn't get it off my mind. This story is dedicated to anyone who has ever done competitive MUN.


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